Mix together and chill.
In the days of coaching inns British sauces were a thing to be reckoned with. There was a time when Cumberland and Somersetshire sauce, to name but two, were beautifully prepared regional garnishes to tickle the palate of the dusty traveller. Then suddenly they invented lorries and factories and our gastronomic heritage was unceremoniously dumped into bottles and distributed, rich with stabilisers and colouring, from the central depot. The Americans, quick to exploit our weakness, dived in with ketchups and relishes. The unscrupulous continentals swiftly followed up with confections related only by name to the original recipes once they realised we eat with our eyes. British cooking had hit rock bottom. Even the great gravy had been sabotaged by boxes of powder and jars of black liquid.
My mum stuck out and still makes her gravy (the French call it jus de rôti) with the dripping from the meat and the water the vegetables were cooked in, thank goodness. But I digress.
Then came the colour supplements and
So please read my sauce recipes carefully - better a squeeze of lemon over a fillet of fish than a bucket of badly conceived liquid from a jar, no matter how grand the name. And don’t swamp the food. Just a little goes a long way. Thank you.
© 1985 Keith Floyd estate. All rights reserved.